


Infernal Hearts

by honeymandos



Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29360856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeymandos/pseuds/honeymandos
Summary: In a moment of realization, you find out you are desperately in love with your best friend, Frankie Morales. The only problem is his infatuation with another woman.
Relationships: Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Reader, Francisco Morales x Reader - Relationship, Frankie Morales x Reader, Santiago "Pope" Garcia/Reader, frankie morales/reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	1. One

You knock rapidly at Santiago’s door, clutching your bag to your side. It was 1am on a Monday night and you had just made possibly one of the biggest revelations of your life, after waking up from a strange dream. Santi opens the door to you with sleepy eyes, rubbing at them and groaning.   
“What is it, Bug? It’s way too early for this shit.” 

“I think I’m in love with Morales,” you blurt, unable to contain the secret for any longer. You’d been trying to bottle it up deep within you for so long, but your dream about Frankie had only made you realize what you knew the entire time; you were deeply, hopelessly in love with him. You had dreamt of being his, of him peppering kisses to your hairline and calling you ‘love-bug’, a sweet spin on your callsign. When you woke up, it had hit you like a train— you want that with Frankie. You’ve never wanted anything more in your entire life. 

Santiago’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, suddenly wide awake with the revelation. He doesn’t say anything but merely stands aside so you can walk in. You immediately begin pacing, folding your arms across your stomach and worrying your bottom lip. 

“I have to tell him,” you say, heels clicking on the tile floors as you walk back and forth through Santi’s kitchen. “Fuck, why didn’t I realize it before?” 

“Slow down,” Santi says firmly, grabbing you by the shoulders and stopping you in your place. “It’s too early, Bug, you can’t think about this rationally. Besides… the timing might be bad.” 

Your eyes snap up to Santi’s, your brows furrowing. What did he mean, bad timing? Frankie had been sleeping with people, sure, but he had expressed to you both that he wasn’t committed to his current fuckbuddy. He wasn’t taken or exclusive or anything, so what was stopping you from confessing?

“What… what do you mean?” You ask slowly, sinking down into one of the kitchen chairs propped in the apartment. Pope slides into the one across from you, sighing deeply and rubbing his temples. 

“Frankie called me the other night, said he’s really into this chick he’s been screwing around with. He’s going to ask her to be his girlfriend.” 

You can almost feel the tangible break in your heart, a defined and sharp pain as if somebody drove a knife right through. He was into someone else, not you. Fuck. You were so sure he felt the same, that he’s felt the same for a while now. He was always so sweet to you, always had your best interests in mind. He offered his shoulder to cry on far too many nights when all you needed was a hug, and he’d nursed you back to health for every hangover you’d had since you were eighteen. Everything he did pointed to him reciprocating your feelings, but… clearly you’d misread things. He liked this girl, whoever she was. And knowing Frankie and his propensity to score girls, she would certainly say yes to his offer. 

You let out a puff of air and lean back, running your hand through your hair. The fuck were you going to do now? You’d just have to go back to normal being Frankie’s best friend, knowing full fucking well that you were in love with him. 

You think that maybe you’ve known for a while now, but didn’t want to admit it to yourself. I mean, how could you not know? Every moment spent with Frankie were the happiest of your life, and every time he touched you, you just felt… complete. Like a puzzle piece being put into place. It was hard to admit you were in love with your best friend of nearly ten years, but you were ready to say it. But fuck, was the timing horrid. 

“He said he’s gonna take her to the house tonight if they get together,” he explains, referencing Will’s house, the one you all crash for hangouts and get-togethers. It was large enough to hold you all and his fridge was perfect for storing beer, so it made it the obvious default. “We’ll just see then, right?” 

“Right,” you say, unable to hide the miserable tone of your voice. Pope sighs sympathetically, standing up and clapping you on the shoulder. 

“Hey, look, it’ll be fine, alright? He’ll probably date this girl for two months and then break up with her, that’s how it always goes with Frankie. You know that.” 

He wasn’t wrong. Frankie had a tendency for short relationships, always finding some problem or flaw and calling it quits. The last girl, Cassidy, he broke up with for being a ‘general bitch’. He didn’t care to elaborate, but from your brief meetings with her, he was fairly justified in his reasoning. She was the kind of woman to call you gorgeous to your face and then gossip behind your back about how terrible she thought you looked, which she just happened to do to you. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” you admit, swatting his hand away from your arm and standing up. It was a hard pill to swallow, but the reality was probably just that you would have to give Frankie time with this girl and wait until they break up. It’s not exactly ideal, sure, but who cares about ideality, anyways? As long as someday there would be a chance, you could hold on. Even if it took ten more years, you would wait it out for Frankie. It’s almost pathetic how much you would be willing to sacrifice for that man. 

“You can crash here, if you want,” Santi offers, jutting his thumb behind him towards the couch. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d slept on his surprisingly comfy sofa, and probably not the last. You’d been friends with Pope for just as long as Frankie— maybe if things had gone differently, you’d have fallen in love with him, instead. The thought nearly makes you laugh out loud. Although Santiago is admittedly very attractive, you could never see yourself being romantic with him. You were just too infatuated with Frankie. 

“You sure? I can drive home.” 

Santiago waves his hand, getting out a cup and filling it with water from the tap. “Nah, not worth it. Crash here, we can spend the day together tomorrow and then see who Frankie brings to the house. Maybe we can talk this out some more, huh?”   
You sigh, nodding. “Sounds good. Thank you.” 

He grunts in response, taking a gulp of the water and padding over to where his room is. “Don’t mention it, Bug. I’m hitting the hay, alright? Scream if you need anything.” 

You chuckle a little bit and set your bag down on the kitchen table, making your way over to the sofa before collapsing on the plush cushions. It was almost more comfortable than your bed, all the more reason to take up Pope’s offer to stay over. He was a great friend, better than you probably deserved. 

You sigh and try to get comfy, unable to shake the nervousness in anticipation for the night ahead of you. It was unlikely that the girl would say no to Frankie, as much as you cross your fingers and pray that she will. Anybody would be an idiot to turn down a guy like Frankie. He was nearly painfully handsome, with his dark curls and stupid dorky smile, and that wasn’t even counting his personality. Caring, shy, sweet, motivated. He was perfect, in every sense of the word. 

You’d just have to prepare yourself for it. You were never a fan of any of Frankie’s past girlfriends, which makes more sense considering the revelation you’d recently made. Suddenly it clicked why you always got a pang in your heart watching him kiss them, or wrap his arm around them endearingly. It was because you were jealous— before, you’d chalked it up to worry over picking up the pieces when his relationship eventually fell to shit. 

You wake up feeling groggy and rumpled, the sun streaming in through the window beside you. Santiago is already up and standing at the counter frying up bacon, the unmistakable smell of the sizzling meat not missing you. You rub your eyes and let out a yawn, stretching your arms up over your head in an exaggerated motion. Pope looks to you with a grin, flipping one of the pieces on the pan. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty. You were knocked out for a pretty long time there.” 

You glance over to the digital clock placed on the side table, groaning at the time displayed. 8:30. Of course Pope thought 8:30 was early. You’d never met someone   
who was more of a morning person than he was. His usual wake up time was around six, and that was for a day of sleeping in. He told you once that he just feels invigorated in the mornings, a fresh day to do whatever he wanted. You can’t say that you feel the same way about mornings, but hey, as long as he was content. 

“You and I both know it is not early,” you protest, standing up and walking over to the cramped bathroom. He had two in his home, one attached to his bedroom and the other near the main living room area. It was more like a half-bath, with only a toilet and a tiny mirror. It worked great for when you or one of the boys slept over, though. You even began keeping spare toiletries in the room for yourself, or for whatever girl he had over. When you open the cabinet below, you notice one of the clean toothbrushes are gone. Clearly some girl had found use in it. 

You look a mess, your hair sticking up every which way and your clothes from yesterday still hanging on your body. You sigh and grab the brush, trying to get through the tangled knots. It proves to be pointless, however, so you merely grab a hair tie and pull it out of your face. It would have to work for today. 

“You hungry?” Pope calls from the kitchen. You pop your head out of the room and look at him with a small smile. 

“You know I am.” 

You go over and slide in across from him at the table as he puts down the plates. He even was considerate enough to give you your favorite fruit juice, which he also keeps in the house since you’re over so often. You thank him silently and dig in, a knot beginning to form in the pit of your stomach from the nervousness of the upcoming day. 

He decides to take you out for the day, for a small shopping trip even if you don’t buy anything. The city is full of fun places to browse and get food, so you two often venture out there if you need time to kill. Luckily the weather was decent, too, making it a good day to be out. 

“This all seems pretty sudden,” he muses as you slide into a booth at the Mediterranean place. It was one of your choice places to eat, and the staff knew the both of you quite well. You have a suspicion that the kind chef thinks you two are dating, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything about it. 

“The realization was kind of sudden,” you admit, playing with the hem of your jacket. “I had a dream about him, and I woke up and just… knew.” 

Santi hums, taking a sip of the complimentary glass of water and tapping his fingers on the table. “What was the dream about?” 

You flush a little, shaking your head. “I don’t really want to get into the details, but… I dreamt we were in a relationship together, him and I. I just kind of realized that I want that. I think I have for a really long time.” 

Santiago whistles lowly, giving you a small smile of pity. “It kind of makes sense. It explains that way you look at him, like he’s the entire world. It just sucks you didn’t realize it sooner.” 

“Yeah,” you agree, chuckling bitterly. “It sucks big time. But hey, there’s not a lot you can do, you know? I’ll just wait until he’s available again. Hell, he might be available tonight.” 

Santiago gives you a skeptical look, his brows cinching together. 

“I dunno, Bug. You know what Frankie’s like.” 

You do know. He’s right, of course. You have to prepare yourself for the fact that Frankie is going to show up with a girl on his arm and he’ll be keeping her around for a little while. There was no use in getting your hopes up about this. 

“Mhmm. Have you met her?” 

He shakes his head. “Nah, but Fish insists she’s great. Apparently they’ve been sleeping together for a while now and she’s super sweet. His perception can be a bit off sometimes, though, so who knows.” 

You nod your head in agreement, taking a sip from your own cup. You wince at the taste of the cruddy tap water, but don’t make a comment about it. 

“True. Remember that girl, what was her name? Sabrina?”

“Caterina,” Santiago corrects. 

“Right, her. He insisted she was amazing, and then she smashed the windows of his car when he broke it off.” 

Pope barks out a laugh, smoothing his hand over the plane of his jaw. 

“Yeah, I remember her! Shit, he’s made some bad girl choices,” he admits, chewing on his bottom lip. The server interrupts the two of you, a smile on her face as she places your plates in front of you. You smile and thank her quietly, brushing past the topic to dig into the gyros she brought. 

“He really has,” you say through a mouthful of food, shaking your head. “Poor guy.” 

Santiago takes a bite and rolls his eyes, waving his free hand in a gesture you don’t recognize. 

“You have too much sympathy for him. He could have avoided so many bad relationships if he had just been a little bit wiser when picking his women.” 

You shrug, knowing Pope is most likely right. It was annoying how right he was about everything. It got tiring, having to agree with him all the time because he knew more than you about shit like this. 

“Do you think this one will be bad?” 

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. “Probably has anger issues or some other attitude problem.” 

You snort, leaning back in your seat to study him better. 

“Yeah, probably.” 

You were both very, very wrong. 

Of course she had said yes. It was no shock when Frankie walked in with his hands intertwined with that of a stunning woman, a sheepish grin on his face as he introduced her. She was tall, nearly his height, with a blonde bob that was curled just slightly. It wasn’t fair how pretty she was, with her perfect fucking smile and perfect eyes and perfect boobs. 

“Her name is Marissa,” he says proudly, winding his arm around her waist. She gives a smile and a laugh, swatting at him playfully. 

“You guys can call me Mary. All my friends call me that.” 

Oh, great. She was friendly, too. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mary,” Benny pipes up, offering his hand to her to shake. She takes it with a smile and a nod, beginning a quieter conversation with the man. While she seems to be distracted, Santiago nudges you, taking a sip of his beer. 

“She’s perfect,” he says lamely. You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, huffing. 

“We don’t know that,” you protest, grabbing the beer from his hands and taking a long gulp. “She just looks like it.” 

“First of all, get your own beer,” he says, snatching the bottle back from you. “And second of all, she’s irritatingly perfect. Even you can admit that.” 

You grind your teeth, letting your gaze go back to her. She really was perfect, especially standing next to Frankie. It made your heart drop to see how well they fit together, like the perfect couple. His smile matched hers, both glowing in each others’ presence. It was utterly disheartening. 

“Hey, hey, I know that look,” Santiago says, his hand coming up to rest reassuringly on your shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, bug. Someday you’ll be able to tell him, or at least move on.” 

You sigh, leaning against Pope for support. It was going to be hard to see Frankie so happy with her, but at least he was happy with somebody. It was better than the episodes he went through, where you spent hours in his apartment holding him while he cried. You’d much rather he was happy with someone else than breaking down in your arms. 

“I know,” you murmur, blinking back tears. “I know.”


	2. Two

“Hey, Fish!” You call, running up to where Frankie stands by his beat-up truck. He turns to you with a grin, raking his hand through his messy head of curls. He hadn’t cut his hair in a while, causing the longer strands to fall in his face a bit. You loved it that way, all curly and messed up. You found yourself wondering on more than one occasion what it would be like to run your hands through it, playing with it while Frankie slept in your lap. Maybe you’d never know. 

“Hey, Buggie,” he greets endearingly, clapping you hard on the shoulder and giving you a cheeky smile. It was just you and him in the parking lot for now, but Santiago was supposed to meet you here, too, for your weekly drinks. It had been a tradition since you were all still in college, going to the beat up bar on the corner of the street and getting drunk off your asses. You never drank as much anymore, but you tried to uphold the tradition regardless. 

“How have things been going with you?” You ask breathlessly, pulling your coat tighter around your shoulders when a cool breeze passes through the parking lot. “You haven’t really been talking about your personal life lately.” 

He shrugs, leaning against the truck and folding his arms over his broad chest. You have to force yourself to look away from his arms, and the way they are clearly far too big for his tight shirt. 

“I’ve been great, actually. Mary has been awesome, works going great. Honestly I just didn’t think you cared,” he admits sheepishly, pulling down the rim of his hat in an attempt to hide his eyes from you. You reach out and flip it up to make eye contact with him, offering a small smile.   
“Of course I care, Frankie. You care about my life, don’t you?” 

“Yeah,” he says, almost shyly. You shake your head and back away from him again when you hear Santiago’s car pull into the parking lot, the loud engine disrupting you and Frankie’s conversation. He hops out of his car and jogs over to you with a wide smile, pulling Frankie into what he calls a ‘bro-hug’. You shake your head in exasperation at the exchange— you’re used to their weirdness, but it never becomes less entertaining. 

“The usual?” The bartender asks you, her hair pulled up into a ponytail. She had always been kind to you, and you’d even developed a friendship with her. Well, a bit more than a friendship if you count the one time a few years back that you slept with her. You choose to forget that, though. 

“Nah, I’ll take the raspberry vodka,” you ask, knowing you’ll need something stronger to get you through a full night with Frankie. He raises his eyebrows at you questioningly as Janet gets the drink, his elbow connecting with your ribs in a small nudge. 

“What’s that about?” He asks, referring to the drink. You shrug as Janet slides it over to you, in a far smaller glass than you know you’ll want.   
“Nothing. Just wanted something stronger.” 

Santiago gives you an eye roll and orders his usual beer, sighing and taking a swig from it. He knows you’re going to have trouble listening to Frankie babble about Mary, which he certainly will if you get enough alcohol in his system. Frankie had always been a vocal drunk, whether he was whining about something or prattling on about work or whoever he was seeing. 

“Okay,” Frankie says, sounding utterly unconvinced. He knows something is up with you, but he’s never been one to pry. If you want to tell him, he will listen, but until then, he was content to leave you be. 

It only takes one beer before Frankie begins gushing about Mary, much to your dismay. You’d hoped it would have been at least two or three before he started. 

“I really like her, guys,” he says, leaning against the wall of the bar and taking another gulp of the cheap brew. “Think I might love her.”   
You nearly gag on your drink at his words, spitting the liquid in your mouth back into the glass. It had been nearly three months since he had started seeing Mary, and two since they were officially dating, but you had honestly expected them to be breaking up right about now. The last thing you foresaw was him falling in love with her.   
Santiago seems to sense your heartbreak, shuffling closer to you in the booth and putting a hand on your leg under the table. It didn’t help exponentially, but the reassurance was better than nothing. Still, you couldn’t shake the nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach at his use of the L-bomb. It didn’t matter that he was under the influence— even drunk, Frankie was anything but a liar. If he said it, he meant it. 

Fuck, he loved her. 

You finish off the rest of your drink swiftly and try to tune him out as he continues to gush about how amazing she is. Santiago nods along with him but spaces out as well, his thoughts focused fully on you. 

“Ah, I’m sorry guys, I gotta get home early,” Frankie apologizes, standing up from the booth and placing down some cash to pay for his drinks. “I’ll see you both soon, okay?” 

“Okay,” you respond weakly, waving him off. “Drive safe, Fishy.” 

“Fishy,” he grumbles, shaking his head. He’s always hated the nickname, or at least pretends to hate it. He would never admit it to you, but he loves the fact that somehow, you’ve come up with a nickname just for him that nobody else uses. It’s… cute. 

The moment he leaves the bar, Santi turns to you and engulfs you in a hug. You sniffle and burrow your face into his neck, now having realized how much you needed one until he provided it. 

“I know it’s hard,” he sighs, patting your back slightly awkwardly. Santiago had always tried his best to give you comfort in any way you needed it, but physical affection was certainly not his strong suit. You pull away to save him the discomfort, wiping at the corners of your damp eyes. 

“It’ll— it’ll be fine,” you manage, shaking your head. “I just want to forget it for tonight.” 

Santiago looks unsure, but he doesn’t stop you when you order another drink. And another. And another. 

You always do this when you get upset— it’s not healthy, you know that. But it’s the best way to forget, and damn, were you forgetting. 

“Santi,” you say, leaning against him. He hums and looks down at you, slightly amused with the drunken state you’ve found yourself in. 

“What is it, Bug?” 

You peer around the bar at all of the people there, your eyes zeroing in on a handsome brunette in the corner with his friends. You point over in his direction, looking up at Santi. 

“He’s attractive, right?” 

“Uh-uh. No. Don’t even think about it.” 

You whine and push yourself off of him, your lips jutted out in a pout. 

“But I have nothing to lose. It’s just one night.” 

Santiago places his hand firmly on your shoulder, shaking his head. 

“Absolutely not. You’re only gonna make yourself more miserable, alright?” 

He was correct, infuriatingly so. Your drunken brain, however, neglects all reason and instead pushes past Santiago anyways, making your way over to the handsome man with a drink in your hand. He smiles when he sees you, a cocky smile that makes your insides turn. Maybe this wasn’t as good of an idea as you thought.   
“Hey, baby,” he greets, not attempting to hide the way that his eyes roam over your body. He seems nice enough, but you don’t speak much before he has you pressed up against one of the walls in the back room with his tongue down your throat. 

You kiss him back harshly, tugging at the long hair at the nape of his neck and moaning into his open mouth. For his foul language at the bar, he was a surprisingly good kisser, his lips clashing against yours with the perfect rhythm. 

Without even noticing, your mind wanders, wondering how the kiss would feel if there was a prickly mustache tickling your upper lip, if the hair you were pulling was curled and soft. 

“Frankie,” you breathe against the mans lips, feeling him freeze against you and quickly pull away. There’s confusion visible in his deep blue eyes, and you curse yourself for the slip. You had been thinking of Frankie without even realizing it, imagining that it was an entirely different man that had you pressed up against the wall. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you apologize, running a hand through your hair. The man shakes his head and gives you a little smile, waving his hand. 

“It’s alright. I’m here trying to get over an ex too, I get it.” 

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“He’s not my ex. He’s my best friend.” 

The man, who’s name you don’t even know, raises his eyebrows, leaning against the wall opposite to you. 

“Oh yeah? What’s stopping you, sweetheart? You’ve got the looks to pull any guy with a working set of eyes.” 

You shrug, picking at the beds of your nails. “He’s in love with another girl, his girlfriend.” 

The man sucks in a breath of air, shaking his head. “Shit, that fucking blows. I guess that’s why you’re here, then?”

“Yeah,” you pause, looking up at him. “Thanks for the distraction. It was brief, but… thanks.” 

“Anytime, princess,” he says with a wink, handing a piece of paper to you with something scrawled on it. “Call me if you ever wanna try this again, okay?” 

You smile a little, sticking the paper in the pocket of your jeans. “Sure.” 

Santiago meets you by the door, walking you straight to his car and not even allowing you the chance to try and drive your own. You wouldn’t have, anyway, but even if you wanted to, you know he would never allow it. 

“So,” he asks, sliding into the drivers seat, “Did that help or make everything worse?” 

“It made everything worse,” you reluctantly grumble, unable to forget the feeling of the mans’ lips against yours and the image of Frankie doing the same. Santiago smirks but doesn’t push his luck, instead opting to just drive you home in relative silence.

“You know Fish is gonna want to help with that hangover, right?” Santi asks by your front door, his arms crossed. You sigh and nod, already trying to mentally prepare yourself. Frankie had gotten you through every hangover you’d ever had since you were just in college, and you knew that he would drop anything to help you this time around, too. 

“Yep. I’ll just have to get through it like I always do.” 

Santiago pauses, cocking his head at you. 

“Frankie cares about you a lot, you know. Even if it’s not in the way you want him to, he loves you.” 

“Thank you, Santi.” 

“Yeah,” he says, rapping on the wall and stepping out of the doorframe. “Try not to vomit too much tonight, Bug.” 

“I’ll do my best,” you call after him.


	3. Three

You wake up groggy with a headache pounding behind your eyes, the smell of shitty top-ramen wafting in from your tiny kitchen. You peek over to see a messy head of brown hair stirring at the pot on your stove, humming absentmindedly to the tune streaming through the radio. 

Shit, you forgot Frankie would be here. And of course, he was making his self proclaimed ‘world famous’ hangover cure. It was just chicken ramen mixed with a shit ton of hot cheetos and sriracha sauce, but to be fair, it did always seem to help, even if it was just a little bit. Even if you didn’t think it worked, you would eat it anyways, if only to validate Frankie’s weird need to be a healer. 

Every single time you’d gotten sick, or had a hangover, Frankie would be there beside you to nurse you back to health. It was nice, previously, but now you didn’t know how well you would do with the new knowledge of your feelings for him. There was just this awkward air between the two of you that you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it and brush it away. 

“Hey, you’re up,” he beams, turning to you with that fucking smile of his. It could light up the whole world, you’re sure of it. You knew that, at the very least, it lit up yours. 

“Yeah, barely,” you groan, rubbing at your eyes and padding over to the kitchen counter to watch him. Frankie was a pretty terrible cook, but he could make a decent pot of instant ramen. Somehow it always tasted better when he made it-- one time Santiago tried to make the same hangover ‘cure’ for you, and it just wasn’t the same. Maybe he put something else in it that he wasn’t telling you about. 

“That bad, huh?” he asks, pouring the ramen into a large bowl and grabbing the bag of hot cheetos from the counter. 

“Yeah, I got pretty wasted.” 

He sends a wary glance over to you, his brow cocked as he crumbles the chips into the bowl of soup. “Is something going on?” 

“What? No, of course not,” you say a little too quickly, shaking your head. “Why are you asking?”

“It’s just, uh,” he begins, fumbling for the sriracha sauce on the counter. “You only ever get wasted if there’s something wrong, or you’re having a shit week or something.” 

Sometimes it could be a curse to have a friend that knew you as well as Frankie did. He had memorized your mannerisms and tendencies, making it impossible to get away with something like this without him knowing something is up. Under any normal circumstances, you would just cave and tell Frankie what was bothering you. But your situation was far from usual, and there was no way in hell you could tell him. 

“I’m alright, just had a stressful week at work,” you lie, gratefully accepting the bowl when he hands it to you. He looks unconvinced, at best, but he doesn’t push it, simply sliding into the bar stool next to you and taking a sip out of his glass of orange juice. 

“If there was something up, you know you could tell me, right?” he asks, his big brown eyes blinking down at you. There was a kindness in them that you had never seen before you met him-- from the inside out, he was the best person you knew. 

“Yeah,” you say in between bites, “I know.” 

He hums and takes another sip, leaning back and staring at a spot on your ceiling. 

“Mary told me she loves me back.” 

You nearly choke on your ramen, almost having forgotten what sent you into a spiral the previous night. Ah yes, Frankie’s profession of love to his girlfriend. You hadn’t ever expected his relationship with the woman to advance much further than a couple weeks, but here you were, a few months later, talking about them being in love. Horrid timing for you, on the other hand, who has possibly only fallen more in love with Frankie over the span of that time. 

“That’s… that’s really great, Fish,” you choke out, mustering up a weak smile and shoving more ramen into your mouth despite the churning in your stomach. 

“You think so?” he beams, turning his head to you. “It sounds silly, but your approval means a lot to me. You know, my girlfriend and my best friend. You’re the two most important women in my life.” 

It was a stab to the gut, having to hear it once again. Just a reminder of the unrequited love festering in your heart, despite your numerous attempts to make it go away. It was looking like you and Frankie would never even have a chance, not at this rate. He talked about Mary like she put the stars in the sky. 

“Well, I don’t know her very well, but… she seems nice. I’m glad you’re happy.” 

“Actually,” he pipes up, pushing himself off the stool and walking over to the television box, opening up the lower cabinet. “I meant to talk to you about that.” 

He pauses as he roots through the small cubby, crouched over in front of it and digging around for god knows what. “Talk to me about what?”

He turns to look at you, a copy of your favorite movie clutched in his hands. It was a tradition, when either of you were hungover, for the two of you to spend the morning making his hangover cure and watching either his favorite movie or your favorite movie. It seems he had chosen yours, which is typical when you’re the one with the pounding headache. 

“I really, really want you and Mary to get along,” he says, standing up and popping the disc into your movie player. “Even if you aren’t like, best friends, I just want you to be amiable, you know?” 

You shrug, slinking out of your own chair and plopping down on the couch. 

“Yeah, I mean, sure,” you mumble, fidgeting with your nail beds. “I just don’t know if I would like her very much.” 

There’s almost a hurt expression on his face when he turns back to you, his features falling. You wince at the look-- it makes you immediately regret your words, your brain scrambling for some way to take it back. 

“I just mean that-- I don’t know her right now,” you fumble, gesturing with your hands. “I’m sure she’s great, I just know nothing about her.” 

Relief passes over Frankie’s face once you clear it up, his own body slouching next to yours on the couch. 

“That’s fine. Would you, uh…” 

He trails off, reaching for the remote and starting the movie. He keeps it on a low volume so you can still talk to each other, the beginning credits staring to roll. 

“Would you want to maybe hang out with her sometime? Just to get to know her?” 

You’re a little taken aback at the question, but at the same time, it’s such a Frankie thing to do. He wants you and his girlfriend to be friends so badly that he’s trying to force you on friend-dates together. It’s endearing and a tad overbearing, but somehow, it only makes you fall harder. 

It’s not fair. He could call you one day and ask him to pay his prison bail and you would probably swoon about it later-- Frankie Morales had unknowingly taken possession of your entire heart, and it didn’t seem that he was willing to give it back any time soon. 

“I.... sure. If it means that much to you, I’ll hang out with her.” 

His smile lights up the room as his hand comes down to clap your back. “That’s great. I’ll let her know, alright? She’s been asking about you, wants to get to know you a bit.” 

Oh great. You wouldn’t put it past her to be one of the jealous type of women, who don’t want their boyfriends to have any female friends. In this case, you can’t really blame her-- you’re in love with her boyfriend. Of course she wouldn’t want you to be friends with him. 

You try to have a good outlook, though. How bad could she be? She was perfectly kind and sweet at the party, and you have absolutely no reason to dislike her. Aside from the fact that she’s fucking the love of your life, of course. 

“Did you finish your ramen?” Frankie asks out of the blue, his brow cocked in suspicion. You hadn’t, which you knew wouldn’t fly with him. He always made you eat the entire bowl, unless you felt ill. 

“If I said yes would you believe me?” 

He groans and smacks you playfully upside the head, grabbing the remote and turning up the volume a few clicks. “You really should have the whole thing, Bug. It’s good for you.” 

“With all due respect, Morales, I don’t think ramen with hot chips is exactly good for me,” you chuckle. He laughs a little bit too, shaking his head and inching closer to you on the couch to your arms are pressed together. The contact makes you blanch, your heart rate picking up in your chest. Fuck, you were whipped for him. It’s almost pathetic. 

You would just have to survive meeting his girlfriend and attempting to get along with her. It would be difficult, but… you would try. You would do anything for him.


	4. Four

You don’t have to look around the small restaurant for long before you spot the woman. Her blonde hair is cropped into a bouncy, wavy bob, and she’s donning a classy dress. She’s easily one of the most stunning women in the room, if not the most. Her eyes crinkle with her smile when she spots you, clambering out of the booth to offer you her hand. 

“Hi! You’re Frankie’s friend, right?” she gushes, happiness practically radiating from every pore. You could see why Frankie liked Mary so much-- she was a perfect match to his spunk, to the lust for life he held that never seemed to fade. 

“Yeah, I am,” you say, managing a smile of your own before slipping into the booth table across from her. She sighs and places her hands in her lap, smile never wavering. 

“I’m sorry if it’s a little bit awkward today, considering we don’t really know each other. I just really wanted to get to know you! Francisco practically never stops talking about you.” 

“What, me?” you ask, a little blush crossing your face. You had never really thought about Frankie talking about you, especially not to someone he cared about like Mary. Did you really mean that much to him?

“I mean, there’s nobody else here,” she jokes, raising the complimentary glass of water on the table to her lips and taking a long drink. You laugh out of politeness, reaching for the laminated menus. 

“So. What do you think of Frankie?” you ask nonchalantly, flipping through the pages. Mary hums and picks up her own menu, looking it over. 

“He’s really a great guy. I never expected him to be so great, considering how we met, but honestly, I think he might be the one.” 

You nearly choke on your own spit, hiding your shock by coughing into your elbow. The one? As in, marriage, kids, white-pickett-fence the one? You know they’ve been dating for months now, but still, it felt so… soon. How quickly you’d let the love of your life slip from between your fingers just to fall into the palm of the woman before you. 

“The one?” you question incredulously, not making any attempt to mask the bitterness in your tone. She laughs lightly and nods, fiddling with the straw on her drink. 

“Yeah, it might be a bit early to know, but… I’ve known Frankie for almost a year now, and I really can’t think of anybody else I’d want it to be. He’s perfect.” 

She wasn’t wrong, not by any regard. You don’t blame her for thinking highly of Frankie. He truly is the perfect man, and any person would be lucky to be able to say that he’s theirs. You were just hoping that you would be that person in the end. 

Knowing Frankie, if Mary ever brought up marriage, he would go through with it. For as long as you’ve known him, he’s spoken about his perfect future, complete with the stability of a family and a job. Of course he would want to marry her. She could give him everything he wants in life, everything he’s always dreamed of. 

It felt like a stab to the gut to meet and speak to Mary, to see that she was truly the flawless woman Frankie gushed to you about. There was something about her that just fit perfectly with him, whether it was her bubbly personality or her stunning looks, you don’t know. But you do know now that there’s no getting Frankie. There’s never going to be anything between the two of you, and maybe it was time to accept that. 

You sigh and slide the balls of cookie dough into the oven, picking up your phone to start a timer. A notification from Santiago pops up on your screen, the text only reminding you of your situation. 

‘Hey, how’d that thing with Mary go?’

You sigh and click on the notification, pressing the call button instead of responding. It would be easier than trying to type out all of your feelings, anyway. 

“Hey, Bug. How’d the meet-n-greet go?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. He realizes he’s made a mistake by joking about it when he’s only met by a small sniffle from your end of the line. 

“Hey, hey, what happened?” he asks, now concerned. You hold back your tears and flop onto the couch in your apartment, sighing. 

“She’s perfect, Santi,” you whisper, swiping at the corners of your eyes to dry the wetness welling up there. “She’s perfect for him. She even called him ‘the one’.”

“Oh, Bug,” he coos, running his hand through his hair. He wants so badly to be there in this moment, to be beside you and comfort you through your hurt. But he’s stuck in a shitty hotel in New York, waiting for his flight the next morning. “I’m so sorry I can’t be there right now. I wish I could.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumble, curling into one of the fuzzy blankets strewn over the pillows. “I just… I was really hoping that there would be something wrong with her, you know? It sounds selfish, but I was almost looking for a reason to hate her.” 

“It’s not selfish,” Santi argues, adjusting the phone pressed to his ear. “You love Frankie, of course you wanted to find something bad about his girlfriend. Nobody could blame you for that.” 

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you as you process his words, chewing on your lower lip. Frankie seemed happier than he had in years when he was with Mary, and from what you had seen, she was a genuinely wonderful woman who had only the best intentions for Frankie. 

“Maybe it’s time for me to move on,” you admit, your voice hushed. 

“I know it hurts, Bug,” he begins, slouching against the dirty hotel wall. “But I think you’re right. I mean, Fish is your friend, and… as much as you love him, you’ll always be in his life. If you can move on from your feelings, maybe you can still be his friend, you know?” 

You nod and sniff a bit, feeling your heart ache at the admission. He’s right, as always, but you didn’t want him to be. It would almost be less painful to allow yourself to yearn secretly, but it would be a much longer pain. It had to be like ripping off a band aid. You needed to get over Frankie, one way or another. 

“It’s not as easy as you make it seem, Santi.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I know that. It’s going to take a lot of time, but hey, I’ll be here for you the whole time, alright? Maybe I can set you up with one of my buddies at work or something.” 

You let out a watery laugh, swiping below your eyes again. “Thank you, Pope. It means a lot.” 

“Of course. I’d do anything for you.”


	5. Five

“So, guys, how has life been?” Will asks, taking a swig of his beer. There’s a small chirp of laughter amongst a couple of the people in the group at the question, livening up the slightly tense atmosphere. 

It was the second get-together that Mary had been invited to, much to Will’s dismay. He’d fought tooth and nail to make Frankie’s girlfriend stay home when it was meant to be a ‘boys night’ (although you’d been invited since college). The rest of you managed to soothe his annoyance, but he still seemed rather perturbed at the new addition to the group of you, Santiago, Frankie, Will, and Benny. It was always just meant to be the five of you, not six. 

“That’s bullshit, Will, nobody likes questions like that,” Santiago jabs back. You let out a muffled laugh beside the man, leaning into his shoulder. Across from you sat Frankie and Mary, who were holding hands and leaning against each other endearingly. And sickeningly. 

“Well, do you have any better suggestions?” he pokes. Santiago hums and takes a large sip of his drink, nodding his head. 

“As a matter of fact I do.” 

He finishes off the last drops of the shitty grocery store beer in his bottle and places it in the middle of the circle you’ve unconsciously formed, gesturing to it. 

“Spin the bottle?” Frankie asks incredulously. Santiago shrugs, nudging you. 

“Hey, it’s a good idea! Bug likes my idea, doncha?” he prods, raising his eyebrows suggestively at you. You roll your eyes and sigh, shaking your head. 

“A bit childish, no?”

“What is this, man, a middle school sleepover?” Benny asks. A round of laughter ensues, Santiago even joining in himself. There’s a broad smile on his face when he claps his hand on your shoulder, reaching for the cooler to get another drink. 

“Come on, it’s a little throwback. Could be fun, right?” 

“Well I think it’s a marvelous idea,” Mary pipes up, nuzzling her head into Frankie’s shoulder. You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes at her tone, gummed up with honey and sickly sweet. It’s like she couldn’t tease or joke for the life of her, and it was infuriating. She was almost too perfect. 

“Yeah, see!” Santi cheers. “Mary likes it. What about you, Fish?” 

You all knew that if Mary agreed, so would Frankie. As expected, he shrugs sheepishly, glancing around the room. “As long as she’s okay with me kissing somebody here.” 

“I am,” she assures from beside him, pressing a kiss to his jaw and leaning in to whisper something in his ear that makes his entire face go red. You have to look away from the blatant display of affection when you feel your stomach churn, not even realizing how sick watching the two of them made you feel. 

“Well, it’s settled then. We play spin the bottle. Who wants to go first?” 

Santiago is met with absolute silence from the entire group, besides the sounds of uncomfortable shifting coming from all of them. He sighs and scoots himself forward in front of the bottle, dramatically looking around. 

“I guess I’m just forced to go first, then.” 

You smile and watch the beer bottle spin around until it lands on the blonde woman sitting across from him, still leaning heavily on Frankie. Her eyes widen in surprise and she looks up at Frankie, batting her lashes. 

“You sure you’re okay with this, honey?” she coos, spreading her hand over his broad chest. You avert your eyes again as Benny snickers at the mushy-gushy display, hiding his laugh in his cup. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s totally fine. Just don’t take too long,” he jests, playfully shoving her off of him and towards Santi. Pope looks a bit flustered but takes it like a champ when Mary presses her lips to his in a chaste kiss, pulling away quickly and earning a round of hoots and applause from the small group. 

“Might have to steal your girl, Frank,” Santiago teases, wiping off his lips with the back of his sleeve. Mary giggles and falls back into Frankie, shaking her head. 

“You couldn’t if you tried.” 

Unfortunately. 

“Alright, Buggy, your turn,” Pope says, turning to you with a wicked grin. You sigh and scooch forward to better reach the bottle, feeling your heart thrum a little in your chest. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to kiss Benny-- you’d had a night together a few years back and things had been a bit awkward between the two of you whenever you were one on one ever since. Not even Santiago knew about it, and you easily considered him your best friend. He knew everything. 

You take the bottle in your hands and flick your wrist to spin it around, watching it slowly come to a halt in front of… Frankie. Shit. 

Of course it had to be the love of your life, who also had a girlfriend that he was madly in love with. You didn’t even know how you were going to function knowing what his lips felt like against yours-- you’d never be able to look at him again. 

Santiago seems to notice your internal panic, placing a hand on the small of your back in reassurance. “Are you okay?” he whispers harshly, his words drowned out by the hooting and hollering of Will, Benny and Mary. 

“I’ll be fine,” you lie, looking up to Frankie. He has a light red tint dusting his cheeks, too, his mouth slightly agape. At least he was flustered, too, although you didn’t know how comparable it was to yoru embarrassment. You can feel your cheeks burning hotter than the fucking desert. 

“Well, get on with it,” Will shouts, creating another eruption of laughter among the group. Frankie hesitantly scoots over to be closer to you, his nose nearly bumping into yours. You crack a grin at the movement, easing the tension between the two of you. He smiles, too, his eyes crinkled softly. 

He reaches up gently to cup the side of your face, his gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes. You almost forget that it’s a dare; the look he’s giving you feels so real, so soft. It’s like he actually wants to kiss you, like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have. 

It feels like only half a second of his soft lips brushing against yours, barely touching you before he recoils and pulls his entire body away from you. His flustered gaze is fleeting anywhere but your eyes, trying to drown out the cheers coming from the rest of the people in the group. 

You scooch back to your spot beside Santiago, absolutely stunned into silence. It hardly felt like a real kiss, just his lips swiping chastely over yours, but something about it made your heart race faster than you’ve ever felt in your life. It was like crashing down from a high, pulling yourself away from him, your world spinning. 

Santiago pulls you into him reassuringly, keeping a hand on your hip. It’s grounding for you, to feel his touch, signaling that you didn’t just experience some sort of fever dream. This was real. You just fake-kissed the love of your life. 

“That was fast,” Mary remarks, elbowing Frankie. He mumbles something under his breath, taking off his cap momentarily to run his hand through his hair. She just giggles and brushes him off, turning to Will, who is the next person in the game. 

The rest of the game goes smoothly, featuring a kiss between you and Santiago that you had to admit wasn’t bad at all. Who knew. 

You stride into the kitchen where Mary stands alone by the sink, filling herself a glass of water. You’re too late to turn around before a large smile comes over her face and she waves at you, setting her glass on the counter. 

You sigh and walk over to the bar table, plopping down across from her in one of the chairs. 

“Something got you down?” she asks, turning back to the sink and beginning to scrub the dishes. Of course she does the dishes voluntarily and unprompted. Why wouldn’t she?

“Kind of,” you admit, picking with a piece of fuzz stuck on your flannel. 

“You can tell me. I don’t bite.” 

You sigh, thinking it over. She’s only ever been kind to you, and hey, maybe if you were vague about the situation and didn’t give anything away, she could give you some advice. Or at least just be there to talk to you about it. 

“I really like this guy,” you start, biting your lip. “Well, okay, I love him. A lot.” 

She grins and looks over her shoulder at you, wiggling her brows. 

“Someone I know?” 

You shake your head, managing a small smile. “No, you don’t. But uh, he’s taken. Not in like, the ‘I’ve had a girlfriend for two weeks and will probably break up with her in one more’ way, but in the ‘I’m gonna marry this woman’ way.” 

Mary shoots you a look of pity, leaning her hip against the counter and swiveling her body to face you. 

“That’s awful, hon, I’m sorry. Is he a friend, or was he just a brief fling?” 

“A friend.” 

“Well,” she starts, turning back to the sink, “The best you can do is just… be there for him. Do your best. The purest form of love is the need for the one you love to be happy, regardless of what that means for you. If you love him like that… the only thing you can do is let him live his life.” 

The words strike a chord with you-- she’s right. This entire time you’ve only been thinking of how miserable you are, but… Frankie is happy. So happy. And every time you’re around him, you find yourself smiling in spite of it all, because you’ve never seen him so happy in all your years of knowing him. 

Maybe it would be okay, and you would move on eventually. As long as Frankie is happy, as long as he’s doing well, you know you’ll be able to survive. Hell, with the way Santiago kissed, maybe you could move on with him. 

“That’s… actually really good advice, Mary,” you confess, smiling in spite of yourself. The girlfriend of the love of your life just gave you advice on how to handle your crush on her boyfriend. It was almost a humorous situation, really. 

“I try,” she says, coming around the bar to stand in front of your stool. “If you ever need anything, even if it’s just a friend to talk to… I’m here, okay? You don’t have to be alone in this.” 

You smile, nodding and looking down at your feet. “Thank you. So much. Luckily I have you, and Santi.” 

Mary nods, looking over at the still-closed door to the room where the boys still sit. Brief raucous laughter occasionally bursts from behind the door, a signal that your boys are still having fun. 

“Does it happen to be Santiago? You two have a lot of chemistry,” she prods, wiggling her eyebrows. You smack her shoulder playfully, laughing and shaking your head. 

“No, no, nothing like that. Santiago and I are just friends, that’s all. Although… that kiss was damn good,” you whisper yell, trying not to draw too much attention. She nods in agreement, looking between you and the door. 

“Agreed. I wasn’t even the one kissing him and it looked fantastic. I think maybe he likes you.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

“Santi doesn’t like me. We’re just friends, that’s all. He would never.” 

Mary shrugs, taking a sip from her glass of water. 

“I dunno… have you seen the way he looks at you? That man is head over heels.”

Now she was just starting to sound crazy. Pope, in love with you? It was almost as insane as you being in love with Frankie. Looking back on it, though… shit, was he? He was always so touchy with you, but you assumed that was just him being… well, him. And he was always there for you, no matter the time of day or what it was about. 

Oh god. Did Santiago love you?


	6. Six

Santiago opens the door to you with a small smile on his face, the first several buttons of his shirt undone and causing a large portion of his chest to be revealed. You clear your throat and tear your eyes off of him, looking away. 

You hadn’t been able to get what Mary said to you the previous day out of your head, and you knew you just needed to confront Santi head on. You would never sacrifice your friendship with him, so you were hoping it would go well even if he reveals he does love you, but who knows. 

“Hey, Buggie,” he greets, blocking the doorway and not allowing you in. It’s odd, really-- usually when you show up to his door, he steps aside and offers you a drink. But he’s crowding the doorway, almost as if he’s trying to hide something from you. 

You raise your eyebrow in suspicion, trying to peek over him. He follows your movements and blocks your line of vision, his eyes narrowing. 

“What are you hiding?” you accuse, the thoughts of confronting him for his supposed love for you going down the drain the moment you realize he has something to hide. He sighs and yields, stepping aside to allow you a view of his couch. 

Sitting there is a pretty woman with gorgeous curls and doe eyes, adjusting her messed up shirt. She offers you a small smile when you walk in, trying and failing to hide the fresh hickeys blooming on the hollow of her neck. 

You spin around to Santiago, a relieved expression on your face. “So you’re not in love with me, then?” 

His eyes nearly pop out of his skull in shock at your accusation, his head immediately shaking. 

“Yeah, um, no offense, but why the fuck would you think that?” he seethes. You flinch, glancing back to the woman on the couch. Santi follows your gaze, too, sighing. 

“I’m sorry, baby, can we do this some other time? Kind of important shit goin’ on right now.” 

She hums and brushes past him on her way out, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You’re almost impressed that Santiago was able to score such a beautiful woman. 

The second she’s out of earshot, he slams the door, spinning back to look at you. 

“Explain. Now.” 

“Okay, I was at the party with Mary, and I was talking to her-- I don’t know, okay, Pope? She said it looked like you were in love with me. I don’t know why.” 

He tsks, running a hand through his hair. “This girl is bad news, Bug. Does she know anything about your thing for Frankie?”

You bite your lip, looking away. There’s no way Santiago wouldn’t yell at you for spilling to Mary, but… It was hard, okay! Something about her just screams ‘talk to me about all your problems!’. 

“Shit, bug, what did you say?” he groans, flopping down on the couch. You settle next to him, nervously picking at your nail beds. 

“I just mentioned that I was in love with a friend,” you mumble, glancing over to him to gauge his reaction. His mouth hangs agape and his eyes are narrowed in shock at you. 

“Are you kidding me?” 

He stands up, running a hand through his hair. “She definitely knows it’s Frankie. The tension between the two of you during that kiss was… palpable, to say the least.” 

You sigh, grabbing one of the cushions and hugging it to your chest. “Do you think that’s the reason she told me that you’re in love with me? To distract me from Frankie?” 

Santi clicks his tongue, nodding. 

“Probably. And look, I wouldn’t mind having a thing with you, but I’m sure as hell not in love. You’re my friend.” 

You smile a little, tilting your head. You felt an extreme sense of relief at his admission, knowing that nothing is coming between your friendship. Santiago means the world to you, and the idea of losing him to something as silly as a crush is nearly unbearable. 

“That’s… really good to hear,” you admit. You hardly have time to get another sentence in before Santiago’s front door swings open, a frantic Frankie standing in the doorway. 

“Santi-- oh, shit, bug, you’re here too. Perfect,” he says, his chest heaving. Did he run all the way up the stairs? His hair is all sweaty and curled, his face shining. 

“Fish, what’s going on?” Santiago asks, coming over to stand near you. Frankie gets a huge, goofy grin on his face and sticks his hand into the pocket of his cargo pants, producing a small black box. 

Your heart plummets when you focus on it, immediately realizing what it is. A ring. He was going to ask Mary to marry him, and he was going to tell you two about it. Fuck. 

“I just got this. Mary and I have been talking about the future a lot, and…” he beams, opening the box to reveal a delicate diamond ring. It’s gorgeous and simple, the kind of ring any girl would love. “I’m going to ask her to marry me. Tonight.” 

The room is completely silent as you and Santiago try to process the information, your mouths fallen open in shock. They had only been dating for around 6 months now, and they can’t have known each other for more than a year. But you couldn’t deny the happiness in Frankie’s eyes, the way he seemed to absolutely glow. So, despite the ache in your chest, you put on a smile for him, standing up from your seat and bringing him into a big bear hug. 

“I’m so proud of you, Frankie,” you murmur, feeling his arms warp around you in return and a smile spread over his face. “I’m glad you found her.” 

“Yeah,” he grins, pulling back enough to look you in the eye. “I’m just glad you two get along.”

Santiago intercepts your hug, wedging you out to give Frankie a clap on the back and a murmured congratulations. You step back and watch them, trying desperately to stop the tears forming in your eyes from running down your face. It would be all over if you acted sad now, and you would have to admit it to Frankie. You wouldn’t ruin his happiness like that. 

“So, where are you taking her?” Santi asks later, once you’ve gone into his bedroom to sort yourself out. Frankie settles on the couch next to him with a beer, taking a small sip. 

“This nice restaurant she’s been talking about downtown, the Snow Bowl or something. Real fancy.” 

Santiago hums, picking at the paper peel on the beer before Frankie pipes up again. “Actually, I was hoping you and Buggy could come along. Not like, with Mary and I, but get your own dinner and stuff to make sure everything goes well. Like, uh, my wingmen. And woman.” 

Santi raises his eyebrows, a tad surprised at the absurdity of the request. He shouldn’t have been, though-- It’s Frankie, after all. 

“You really want us to watch you get engaged?” 

Frankie shuffles a little, adjusting his position on the couch. “No. Well, it’s more for if she says no, so I don’t have to be alone, y’know?”

Ah. That made more sense. “Sure, man. I don’t, uh--” Santiago says, cutting himself off with a cough. “I don’t know if Bug can make it.” 

Frankie’s expression falls, glancing over to the door of Santiago’s bedroom briefly before looking back at his friend. “Is she okay? She’s been acting strange lately.” 

Santiago nods, taking a sip of his beer. “She’ll be alright.” 

Frankie hums, looking utterly unconvinced, but he drops the subject anyway when you come out of Santiago’s room, one of his sweatshirts hanging from your smaller frame. Frankie tries to conceal the strange bubble of jealously in his chest at the sight, coughing and looking away while Santiago shamelessly checks you out. Mary might have been wrong about him being in love with you, but he wasn’t afraid to admit that he thought you were hot. 

“What’s up?” you ask, pulling up one of the kitchen chairs and sitting across the boys on the couch. Frankie shrugs, fiddling with his fingers. 

“I was just asking Santi if maybe you guys would want to come to the restaurant tonight, in case Mary says no.” 

Your eyes widen, the breath stolen from your lungs. Did Frankie seriously want you to watch him get engaged? 

“She’s not going to say no, bub,” you murmur dismissevly, reaching over and snatching Santiago’s drink from him to take a gulp. He swats you playfully, a mock-annoyed expression adorning his face. 

“You don’t know that,” he protests, “And I don’t want to be alone if it happens.” 

You sigh and look to Santi, a pleading look in your eyes. He squeezes your shoulder and looks over to Frankie. “We’ll be there for ya, Frank.” 

And that you were. You both had to get dressed up for the fancy restaurant, a pretty red number hugging the curves of your body, and you selected a table facing Mary’s back, so she wouldn’t spot the two of you and suspect something was up. 

You take a sip of the overpriced champagne, glancing over at Frankie and Mary. He looked adorable all dolled up like this, with his messy curls tamed into a neatly coiffed style and a nice suit on his body. It pained you, though, to see the way his lips turn up every time he looks at her, the shine of adoration in his eyes. 

“Hey. Quit that,” Santiago scolds, noticing your wandering gaze. He had decided it was going to be a friend-date, one where you weren’t allowed to focus on Frankie. Hell, you weren’t even allowed to look at him. 

“I’m not doing anything,” you mumble, an obvious lie. He sighs, running a hand through the hair he didn’t bother to style. He was damn near perfect anyway, it’s not like he needed to do much to look nice. 

“Bug, what are you gonna do at the wedding? Huh? You gotta get over Frankie at some point,” he says firmly, taking a sip of his own drink. You sigh and mess with the fancy cloth napkin; he’s not wrong, you couldn’t just sit and mope and cry at your best friends’ wedding. You would just have to spend these next few months trying your very best to get over him. How hard could it be, right?

“Ah, shit, he’s doing it,” Santiago curses, turning in his seat and hurriedly setting his glass down. You can practically hear the sound of your heart splitting when you look over to see Frankie on his knee, a dopey smile on his face and an open ring box in his hand. He’s saying something to Mary, something you can’t hear, but you’re almost grateful for that. It would only be salt in the wound to have to hear him profess his love to her, to have to hear him tell her how much she means. 

And, as expected, she sticks out her perfectly manicured hand with a smile, accepting the ring. You can’t bring yourself to cheer, like the rest of the crowded restaurant is. You feel like you’re underwater, the hollers and claps drowned out by the sounds of your own thoughts. You didn’t know how you were going to live like this, how the fuck you were going to get over him. It felt so much more real to have to watch him kiss her, to see the sparkly ring on her hand.

It was over. You’d lost the love of your life.


	7. Seven

“Well, what do you think of this one?” the woman asks, spinning around in the gorgeous white gown. 

It hadn’t been your idea to come dress shopping with Mary. Far from it, really. Frankie had allegedly told Mary how good of an eye you had for dresses and fashion, and she had in turn invited you to help her pick out the perfect wedding gown. It was surprising that she hadn’t invited her mother, sister, any of her close friends, and had instead elected to enlist your help. You couldn’t fathom the reason, besides Frankie’s glowing review, but now you were stuck here, watching the woman twirl around in wedding gowns. 

“It’s a little too plain,” you shrug, noting the lack of trim on the dress and the straight, unflattering neckline. You’d been tempted, originally, to pick her an unflattering dress, out of nothing but spite. Your moral compass, on the other hand, had prevented you from making such a mistake. Although you were bitter, and your heart ached even more with each moment that passed drawing nearer to the loss of your love, you would endure it all to see him happy. Despite the hurt in your own heart, you would do anything to ensure that Frankie’s would never feel the same pain. 

“Yeah, I suppose it is,” Mary sighs, turning and going back to the dressing room. She grunts as she tries to slip into the new, poofier dress, not sure how she’ll even fit through the church doors with it on. 

“How did it go with Santiago?” she calls, the sound of a zipper following her sentence. You lean back in your chair and pinch the bridge of your nose, having forgotten all about the predicament with the man whom you called your best friend. 

“You were wrong,” you call back, wincing at the tone of your voice. There was no reason, not really, for you to be malicious or rude to her. She did nothing wrong, besides lead you astray from Frankie, which could just be chalked up to jealousy. You couldn’t exactly blame her; you know you would do the same, if in her position. 

“Oh dear, was I?” she asks, stepping out of the dressing room in the gown. The second you see it, you know it has to be the one. The dress hugs her perfect curves in all the right ways, and the neckline is cut in a flattering sweetheart shape. 

“Oh, Mary, it’s perfect,” you breathe, striding up to her and inspecting the dress closer. She twirls a little, a smile on her perfect lips. 

“You think so?” she asks sheepishly, an unsure look on her face. “It’s not too much?”

You shake your head, smoothing out one of the small creases in the skirt. “I don’t think so at all. It looks lovely.” 

Mary beams, bunching up the skirts in her hands and nodding. “Perfect, it’s settled, then. This is the one.” 

It takes a while to complete the purchase of the dress and arrange a time before the wedding starts for pickup, but after, you feel relief at the prospect of finally being away from her. It would give you time to reflect, maybe heal-- 

“What do you say we grab a coffee?” she grins, slinging her purse over her shoulder and interrupting your thoughts. You have to suppress a groan at the offer, although you have to admit, you could really use a pick-me-up right about now. 

“You know what? Sure.” 

Once again, she’s strangely easy to talk to, despite your lack of knowledge about much of her life. She seemed nice enough, but something about her was… off. No person could truly be so perfect, seemingly devoid of flaws or the ability to make mistakes. Maybe it was your jealousy, but something in her eyes sent warning signals screeching through your head. 

“So, how’s that love with the mystery man going, then?” she asks, taking a sip of her iced latte. You bite your lip and avert your eyes from her, trying to come up with a quick and believable lie. 

“Uh, it’s not well, really. I truly think I need to just move on,” you admit, swirling your straw around in the cup. She gives you a look of pity, reaching across the table to grab your hand comfortingly. 

“One day, you’ll find someone who loves you for exactly who you are, okay? There will be no doubts, no roadblocks; you’ll just know he’s the one. I’m confident you’ll find him.” 

You chew on your lip, tempted to argue. All relationships had roadblocks, but to some extent, she was right. When you find the one, you’ll know it. The problem was, you knew it was Frankie. 

“Thank you, Mary,” you mumble, taking a sip of your coffee. 

“I like this one, I think,” Frankie says between a mouthful of red velvet cake, standing miles away from you and Mary at the bakery in town. Santiago shrugs, flinching when he takes a lick of the cream cheese frosting. 

“That’s nasty, man. You’re like a fucking goat, you’ll eat anything,” Santi says, putting the plate down and taking a large drink of water to wash away the sour taste. Frankie was a lot of things, but he was certainly not a valid food critic. If it was edible and served to him, he would tell you it tasted amazing, whether or not that was actually true. 

“Not true,” Frankie protests, picking up a tiny plate from the next cake display. He had invited Santiago to help him pick out a wedding cake for the big day, knowing he would need a second opinion to be able to decide. 

“Ew. Is this one lemon?” Santiago asks, spitting out the cake into his napkin. Frankie snorts and takes a large bite, humming. 

“It’s fine, I guess. I just want it to be perfect for the big day, yknow?”

Pope pauses, putting the small plate down and glancing at Frankie. “Are you sure you want to do this, man?”

He blinks, swallowing the cake and putting his own plate back on the table. 

“I… I don’t know,” Frankie admits in a harsh whisper, rubbing at his tired eyes. “I like Mary, a lot, and I know I could settle with her.” 

Santiago raises his eyebrows, moving on to the next cake, a raspberry flavor. “Settle? Marriage isn’t supposed to be about settling, Fish.” 

He shrugs, taking a bite of the next cake. It’s pleasant, but something is still missing from it that he can’t seem to put his hand on. 

“I know it’s not. But I need to settle down at some point, and Mary… I can learn to love her.” 

“You don’t love her now?”

Frankie doesn’t respond, pretending not to hear the question. He’s quite fond of Mary, yes, but love doesn't feel like the right word. He loves dogs, his helicopter, his friends, food… but Mary? He didn’t know what he felt for Mary, but no, he can’t say deep down that it’s love, not yet. 

He knows he should marry for love. That’s what everybody’s told him, anyway, since the time he was a small child. But Mary is… convenient. She wants similar things that Frankie does in a marriage-- kids, a white-picket fence, maybe a big dog. He’s not getting any younger, and sooner or later, he wants a family, a life. He can’t sit around for the rest of his life waiting for y-- for the perfect partner. 

“I think Bug should make the cake,” Frankie says, wiping his mouth with one of the fancy napkins displayed on the cake-testing table. “She’s so good at baking. None of these even compare to hers.” 

Santiago can’t hide his grin at the admission, folding his arms over his chest. “I knew you were gonna say that. She’s gonna be thrilled, Fish, you know how much she likes to bake.” 

He did. Every time he came into your apartment and you were baking, he’d lean over your shoulder and take tastes of the raw dough or batter, earning a giggle and a smack from you. He just couldn’t help it, everything you made was delicious. He knew he wouldn’t be able to decide on a cake, anyway, so maybe you could do it for him. 

“Yeah, she does. Do you think she’s with Mary right now?”

Pope hums, picking up his phone and moving over to the counter where the baker stands to wish the older woman farewell and thank you. “Probably. It’s only been two hours.” 

Frankie whistles lowly, standing by as Santiago sorts out the details with the baker and explains the situation. The woman only looks mildly offended at their choice to not pick one of her cakes, but Frankie can’t bring himself to care too much. They’re overpriced here, anyway. 

“How the fuck would it take two hours to pick a dress?” he asks, walking out of the shop by Pope’s side. The other man shrugs, slipping his hands into his pocket and fishing out his cellphone. 

“I have no idea. Let me call her and ask if she’s down to make the cake, alright?”

Santi dials your number, which he’s had memorized for a number of years now. He never bothered with contact names in his phone, just memorized the numbers of the people he really wanted or needed to talk to. He found it to be more efficient, even though it was quite the opposite according to you and all of the rest of his friends.

You pick up after two rings, relieved at being saved from the awkward silence between you and Mary after the ‘mystery man’ talk. 

“Hey, Pope, what’s up?” you ask, taking a tip of your own drink. He can’t help but to grin, carding a hand through his thick hair. 

“Frankie and I just got done with the cake tasting.” 

“Oh? How was that? Did you guys pick one?” you ask conversationally, shooting a mock sad look to Mary and pointing to the phone to indicate that you’re busy. Truthfully, you were about ready to fake receiving a phone call just to escape the woman. When she wasn’t asking ridiculously deep questions about your life, she was entirely silent, almost eerily so. 

“No, actually. Frankie said--” 

“Don’t tell her what I said!” you hear Frankie’s voice shout through the phone, his voice slightly muffled from being further away. You giggle a little bit at his goofy nature, rustling being heard through the receiver while Pope snatches his phone back. 

“Anyway. The cakes weren’t that great, and Frankie wants to know if you would want to bake the cake instead?” 

You pause for a moment, mulling it over. It wasn’t a surprise, really, but you were still pleased that Frankie compared your cakes to professional ones from the luxury bakery. He had always had this soft spot for your cooking and baking, and made a point of telling you how much he enjoyed it all the time. It was endearing. 

On the other hand, you would have to be making the love of your life’s wedding cake, knowing full well it’s just another step to giving him up forever. Although, you’ve already done so much for him, for this wedding already. Fuck it, what’s one more?

“Sure, I’ll do it. Tell him that he better be paying me, though. I don’t work for free!”

Santiago laughs and agrees, turning to Frankie with a grin. “She said you have to pay her.”

“Little monster,” Frankie grumbles, snatching the phone from Santiago. “How much do you want, Buggy?”

“A million dollars,” you answer jokingly. Frankie cracks a smile, despite his promise to himself to remain serious on the phone. 

“Fine. A million. But no more!” he cries, laughing along with you. He wishes you were there right now, so he could pull you into his arms and shower you with a million thank-yous for all you’ve done for him, for all you continue to do. Throughout his adult life, you’ve been there without fail, always by his side. 

Part of him wishes he didn’t have to settle for another.


	8. Eight

“What flavor did you want again?” you ask, turning to where Frankie is perched at the barstool, watching your every move with awe. His eyes snap up to yours, a light blush dusting his cheeks. 

“I didn’t,” he replies, shoving himself off of the chair and coming over to stand closer to you. You can nearly feel his body heat with the proximity of the man, a nervous shiver coursing down your spine. 

“Okay, well, what do you want?” You press, sticking your finger to his chest. He grins and swats it away, directing his attention to the recipe cards on the counter. 

“I’m a sucker for that fucking strawberry cake you make,” he admits, pulling out the recipe for it and studying it with a furrow in his brow. “Tastes like it was made by Gods themselves.”

You grin and turn away under his praise, snatching the recipe card and beginning to gather ingredients. You always found yourself glowing every time the man uttered a kind or proud word about you; something about his approval just felt special. 

“Excellent, we’ll do that one, then.”

He isn’t very helpful in the kitchen, but he provides nice company and fun talks. Conversation with Frankie can be stiff sometimes, but once you get onto a topic you both like, you could talk for hours on end without getting bored. Sometimes, you’ve noticed, when he’s really excited about something, he gets this light in his eye and his smile turns all the way up. It’s rare to see him like that, happy beyond words, but on all of the occasions where you’ve caught a glimpse, he’s been… beautiful. 

You finally get the multiple cake pans into the oven, wiping your forehead to rid yourself of the sweat that had collected there. Frankie chuckles when he takes you in, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. 

“What’s so funny?” you ask, folding your own arms. He shakes his head and brings his hand up to your face, his touch ghosting the plush skin of your lips as he swipes at some of the batter that had lingered in the corner. His touch is soft and gentle, but gone in an instant, the batter-covered finger reaching his own lips. 

You feel an odd jolt of electricity go through you at the sight of him with his finger in his mouth, licking at the batter that had just previously been on your own lips. The way he swirls his tongue around it and moans in delight around the digit causes a flare of red in your cheeks, so much so that you have to avert your eyes and bite down on your lip. 

“You’re a fucking whiz, you know that?” he finally says, his voice a deep rumble that reverberates in your chest. You gulp and nod, feigning a smile. 

“So you always say,” you mumble, leaning against the counter and trying to angle your body away from him.

“I need to call the florist today,” he sighs, plopping down in the seat he was in previously. You’re incredibly grateful for the change of subject and his willingness to brush past whatever the fuck had just happened; you’re not sure what you would have done had he not changed the topic. 

“Shouldn’t be too difficult,” you muse, starting on the frosting. It’s a simple recipe, really, just powdered sugar, butter and vanilla. Should you add sliced strawberries for the flavor? Maybe it would be fun. 

“Yeah, I mean, normally it wouldn’t be, but I have no idea what kind of flowers she’s going to want,” he sighs, scrolling through the catalog of available types on his phone. You hum and stir the ingredients together, dipping your finger in to taste it. Maybe a bit more vanilla. 

“Have you asked her at all?”

He shrugs, leaning back. “She was super vague. The only thing she told me is that she wants pink, to match the bridesmaids dresses. And there’s at least 40 different pink bouquets on this website!” 

“Just pick one. You know her well enough,” you assure him, glancing back over your shoulder. There are bags under his eyes, surely from the lack of sleep from trying to make this wedding perfect. The poor man looks absolutely exhausted. 

“It would be so much easier if I was marrying you,” he chuckles, rubbing at his tired eyes. “I already know exactly what you like.” 

You blanch at the statement. You know it’s just a joke, just one of the things Frankie likes to toss around without meaning, but it feels like a searing knife directly to the chest. You nearly forget to breathe for a moment, glad that your back is facing Frankie and he can’t see the expression on your face. 

“Yeah,” you gulp, trying to steady your voice as much as possible. “It would be easy.” 

It doesn’t take much longer to frost the cake, as they wanted a fairly minimalistic style as far as decoration. You set aside a small tester-cake for Frankie, smiling and pushing it towards him. You ultimately decided to put strawberries in the buttercream for an extra burst of flavor, and put some strawberries sliced to look like roses on top of the cake. 

“Thank you,” he says gratefully, grabbing the fork and digging in with a small bite. The moan he lets out when the cake hits his tongue shoots straight to your core, much to your embarrassment. You figure he’s too caught up in tasting the cake to see the way your cheeks darken and your eyes are looking anywhere but at him. 

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life,” he professes earnestly, looking up at you with those big puppy eyes you can never resist. You smile and sigh, looking over at the big cake. You’re rather proud of how it turned out looking. 

“Thank you. I try.” 

He leans forward and takes your hand in his gently, squeezing. “Really, it’s perfect. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend to do this for me.” 

You swallow hard and squeeze his hand back, trying to ignore the way your hands fit together like a puzzle piece. It just feels so right when you’re with him. You know it’s just you, but… how could he not feel it too? How did he not feel the spark that night you kissed, how could he possibly not have felt anything? It feels so impossible to you that you’re the only one that feels the connection between the two of you, like it’s simply meant to be. 

You can’t stop the tears once he walks out the door, sliding down to the floor of the kitchen and burying your head in your hands. How could you go to the wedding and watch him marry another woman? The big day was tomorrow and over the past few months, it seems your attraction to Frankie has only grown with each passing moment. 

You want to be there for him, be there for your best friend. He deserves to have his friend there, smiling and watching him about to enter the next big phase in his life. You don’t know if you can be that friend for him, though. You don’t know if you can put on a smile and pretend to be alright while you lose the chance of being with him, forever. 

The last thing you want to do is tell him and ruin your friendship and his wedding. But you need to. You have to. You can’t live anymore with this weight on your chest, with the knowledge that he may never know the depth of your feelings. Tomorrow, before you send him off to the ceremony… you would tell him. You have to. 

For your own sake.


	9. Finale

You bring the curling wand to her short blonde hair, humming and forming the strand along the wand. Despite her near perfect complexion and makeup, her face is pulled together in anxiety, a wrinkle forming between her brows. 

You release the curl, letting it fall and bounce up to her ear. “What’s wrong?”

She sighs, shaking her head and looking at you in the mirror. “I don’t know. I love Frankie, I really do, but… is this going too fast?” 

They had known each other for what was about to be two years now, which was plenty of time to get to know somebody, but yes, the marriage had felt… rushed. In the end, though, that didn’t matter much. Frankie and Mary seemed happy, happier than you’d seen the man in a long time. 

“I don’t think so,” you reassure, despite the devil on your shoulder nagging to cause chaos. Professing your love to Frankie before sending him off to the ceremony would be enough; the last thing you would want to do is give his wife cold feet. “You love him, and he loves you, right? That’s enough.” 

She gives you a little smile, the crease in her brow melting away. It was strange to you, at first, how involved you had been in preparing Mary for the wedding. Between the dress shopping, and now getting her into her hair and makeup, it felt odd. But coming to the church today and seeing only guests that Frankie had invited, with no family for Mary to speak of… it made a bit more sense. She didn’t have anybody other than Frankie. 

It made you feel almost bad, for the selfishness you exhibited around the man. You could just shut up and let them be happy, suck it up and watch Frankie get married. You didn’t want to, though. You knew you would regret it forever if you let the love of your life slip through your fingers, without even letting him know how you felt. 

“You’re right, you’re right,” she sighs, her lips pulling into a smile. “I think I’m just getting the jitters. It’ll all be fine.” 

You gulp, finishing curling the last strand of her hair. “Yeah.” 

You have to admit, she looks radiant. The perfect bride for the perfect man. You expected nothing less, though. She had always been perfect, from the moment you had first met her all those months ago. She spins around in her dress, a huge smile on her face. 

“Do you think I’m ready?” she grins, flopping down on the couch perched in the corner of the room. You manage to feign a smile, nodding. 

“I think so.” 

Santiago strides into the room, his tie already on and pressed. He looks awfully handsome all cleaned up like this, with his hair slicked and styled back and the color of the flowers complimenting his dark eyes. He gives you that award winning smile of his before turning to Mary, whistling lowly. 

“Shit, girl. Starting to wish I was Frankie,” he jokes lightly, slapping Mary on the shoulder. She giggles and leans into him, shaking her head. 

“Oh, you!” 

Was she this flirty with everybody? You had never noticed it before, but she was like this with all of the boys. Huh. Maybe she was just a natural flirt. 

“Oh, right, I have a reason for being here,” Santi says, standing up straighter and adjusting the lapels of his suit. “Frankie wanted to talk to you, Bug.” 

Shit. You had been hoping, at the back of your mind, that you would get so swept up in prepping the wedding that there would be no time to see Frankie beforehand, no time to confess. It would make it so much easier for you to avoid your feelings forever, to just pretend you weren’t madly in love with him and go on with your life. But, of course, as fate would have it, he wants to see you. You knew that he would. You are his best friend, after all. 

“Oh. Okay. Which room is he in?” you ask, slowly making your way over to the door to waste time. Santiago shrugs, strolling over to the door with you. 

“I’ll show you.” 

There’s silence between you two for a long moment, only the sounds of your shoes clicking on the linoleum floors echoing through the hallway. You should tell him, probably. Maybe he would talk you out of it, convince you to stop being selfish and let Frankie have his special day. 

“I’m gonna tell him,” you breathe, your eyes flicking up to Santi’s to gauge his reaction. His brows furrow and he stops in his place, staring at you. 

“Tell him what?” 

You bite your lip, allowing the words to pass between the two of you without a sentence uttered. Santiago takes a sharp breath of air, his hand coming up to comb through his styled hair. 

“Buggy… are you sure?” he asks, genuine concern in his tone. “You’re only going to hurt yourself if you go through with this. Wouldn’t it just be better to… move on?”

You sigh, turning your eyes to the floor. “I can’t move on until I get this weight off my chest, Santi. You don’t understand--” 

“I do,” he cuts off, grabbing your shoulder gently and giving you a reassuring squeeze. “I do. I just want what’s best for you, okay?” 

“I know you do,” you murmur, holding his hand and squeezing back. You know all Santiago wants to do is make sure you’re alright, to make sure you don’t get your feelings hurt, but this is something you have to do. For your own sake. 

He sees the look in your eye of determination and releases you, tilting his head and cupping your face in his callused hands. He comes forward to press his warm lips to your forehead, lingering there for a long moment before pulling away and allowing his arms to drop to his sides.

“Be careful.” 

You only offer him a smile as he guides you the rest of the way to Frankie’s door, knocking gently before turning away and giving you a wink as he starts down the long hall.

“Come in!” he shouts in response. You take a deep breath and open the door, your heart hammering in your chest. You have to do this. 

Suddenly you can’t manage to summon air into your lungs, stricken by seeing Frankie like this. You had never seen him all dressed up before, with his curls styled and a white suit shirt clinging to his frame. He’s wrestling himself into the black suit jacket, grunting and finally managing to slip his arm through the sleeve. 

“Bug!” he says, his eyes finally meeting yours. It doesn’t even take a second before his jaw drops open, his gaze shamelessly sweeping across your figure and taking you in. You hadn’t dressed up incredibly fancy for the wedding, seeing as you weren’t a part of the actual ceremony, but you still put in a lot more effort than you usually do. And clearly, he noticed. 

“W...wow,” he breathes out, taking a step closer to you. He seems to snap out of it, though, giving you a goofy grin and tilting his head. “I like that headband.” 

You feel a smile creeping up on your face at his words. He had given you this headband years ago, when you were walking around in town together and mentioned that your hair was in your face. He had stopped walking with you just to pop into a store and get it, offering it to you with the same smile he wears on his face now. 

“Thanks.” 

He sighs and pulls you into a hug, his arms englufing you and squeezing you tight. 

“No, thank you. I could never have planned this whole wedding without you. Not even to mention the fact that you singlehandedly made the absolutely perfect cake.” 

You embrace him awkwardly, trying to find a good segway when he finally peels himself from you. He can tell something is wrong nearly immediately, his brows furrowing in concern. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, trying to remember the speech you’d practiced in your mind a million times. Now, though, all of those words seem absolite, devoid of the proper meaning they are meant to hold. 

“I love you,” you manage to blurt out, not daring to look up at him or give him time to respond. “I’ve loved you since we were just kids, and we lived in college dorms across from each other. I didn’t even fucking realize it. I didn’t realize it until… until you were already with Mary. I was too late. I’m still too late. Fuck, I’m too late, but Frankie, I’ve never loved somebody like I love you. Everything I do, the ghost of you seems to follow, reminding me that I couldn’t bear to live life without you. I don’t want to drink anymore if you aren’t there to make me shitty ramen when I get a hangover, I don’t want to bake if you aren’t behind me stealing the batter. You’re everything to me, and you always have been. I know I’m too late to tell you that, I know, I just… I can’t live for a second longer without getting it off of my chest. I can’t do it.” 

It’s then that you finally look up to him, and his expression is the last thing you could have ever expected. You thought you would see pity, anger, disgust, maybe, but no. Instead, Frankie’s cheeks are stained with tears and his eyes hold a storm of emotions you can’t even begin to interpret. 

“I wish you had told me sooner,” he admits quietly, his voice breaking and another tear rolling down his face. He reaches up quickly to wipe it away, taking a shaky breath before continuing. 

“I loved you from the moment I first saw you moving in across from me. It feels like a lifetime ago, now. But I never stopped, Buggy, and I never will. I just…” he trails off, gesturing to his suit. “It’s my wedding day. I have a nice girl waiting to marry me. I committed to settle down, to finally start the next chapter of my life, I… I have to go through with it.” 

You can’t manage to move your mouth enough to formulate a response, still reeling from the shock and hurt brought upon by the knowledge that he loved you too. If you were just a year or two sooner, if you had just gotten out of your own head soon enough… maybe you would be the one in a white gown today. 

“I’m sorry,” he adds, sniffling a little and shaking his head. “I think it’s best that we both move on. I want you to be happy, Bug, I really do.” 

“Yeah,” you murmur, your eyes burning with unshed tears. “I want that for you, too.” 

The moment you step out the door, Santiago is there, brushing past you quickly to get to Frankie, despite his heart screaming at him to comfort you. He knows there’s no way it went well; even if Frankie did love you, he’s too kind of a man to abandon Mary at the altar. He would never do such a thing. 

“Fish,” he says, grabbing the man by the shoulders. Frankie looks far away, staring at a spot on the wall and shaking his head. 

“She loves me,” he murmurs, letting a choked sob escape his throat. “And I love her, too.” 

Santiago pauses, taking a sharp breath. “Then why aren’t you marrying her?”

Frankie shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I promised Mary. She’s nice enough, Pope, I can move on with her. It’s too late for Bug and I.”

Pope knows that’s not true in the slightest, but he holds his tongue. If it’s what Frankie truly thinks he wants, it’s not his place to interfere. It never will be. 

Fuck it. This is more important.

“If you go out there and marry the wrong woman, you’re going to regret it forever, Fish. You’ve loved Bug since you were 18. What’s stopping you from being happy with her?”

Frankie pauses, taking a deep breath in. “I already told you. I can’t do this to Mary. She doesn’t have anybody but me.” 

He wasn’t wrong. Even at her wedding day, it seemed Mary had no family or friends to her name, which was either suspicious or sad. Santiago hadn’t figured it out yet, but there was something… strange, about Mary. He couldn’t let his best friend marry the woman. 

“You can’t do this, Francisco,” Santiago argues, shaking Frankie’s shoulders gently. “You don’t even love the woman you’re getting married to.” 

Frankie shoves the other man off of him, flustered and annoyed. 

“I’m going to do this,” Frankie insists, brushing past Santiago and lingering in the doorway before turning to face the man once again. “The ceremony starts in a few minutes.” 

You’re barely able to get yourself together and sit down before the music from the large church organ begins to filter through the room. It had taken you longer than you would care to admit to pull yourself together and manage to clean up your running mascara enough to look presentable. You knew that Frankie’s rejection would take a toll on you, but you had never thought it would hurt nearly this much. 

Especially now, seeing him stone-faced at the alter after confessing that he loves you back. What the hell is he thinking, going through with this? You understand wanting to settle down, wanting to have a family, but why would he pick her when you’re in front of him, willing to give him all of that and more? 

He doesn’t even look happy. Even as Mary walks down the aisle with a bright smile on her face, Frankie’s expression remains neutral, at best, his lips only curving slightly upward upon seeing her. 

You have to do something about this. 

She stands in front of him, their hands interlocked, the priest jabbering on for a bit before pausing on the only words you’ve been listening for, the only words you care about. “Should anyone object to this matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” 

There is only a beat of silence before you are rising to your feet, drawing gasps from the rest of the large audience witnessing the wedding. You take a deep breath and meet Frankie’s wide eyes, feeling tears spring to your own. 

“I know you want to settle,” you say, your voice already wobbling, “I know you just want a family, a perfect life. I know it’s time for you to have all of that. Frankie, I… if you would only give me the chance… I want that with you. So badly. I love you, more than I have ever loved anybody in my entire life. And you love me too! Please, Fish. Don’t do this.” 

You hadn’t noticed Frankie dropping Mary’s hands as you spoke, hadn’t noticed him starting over to where you stand right in the middle of the aisle, his eyes glistening. His hands are rough when they grab your waist and dip you down, but his lips are soft against yours and his touch is warm. You can hardly hear the sound of the audience’s shocked gasps, too caught up in the euphoria of finally being in the arms of the man you love, right where you’re meant to be. 

Frankie breaks away with teary eyes, his nose bumping against yours when his arms draw you close to him. 

“It’s you,” he whispers brokenly, his hand coming up to tenderly cup your cheek. “It’s always been you. My heart burns for you.” 

You can’t help but to smile, pressing a kiss to the calloused skin of his palm. 

“And mine burns for you.”


End file.
